Sizzy One Shots
by sizzy-enthusiast
Summary: Simon and Isabelle are my muse. I seem to write one shots about them all the time. Some are long, some are short. Some use real canon facts, and others are AU's. All are individuals. This will be updated as new drabbles are written, but for all intents and purposes, it's completed. (Inspired by jennycaakes' A Collection of Gadge)
1. Tech Support

**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

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Isabelle Lightwood, with her laptop in hand stood in the line of her Best Buy's Geek Squad. College life was treating her well. The occasional party always took the ease off the school work, which always seemed to be her priority. She was a studious student; her nose was always in a book trying to learn every detail of whatever subject she was investing her time in. The only problem was her laptop.

The laptop she's had since high school had a tendency of dying now that she was away from home. This was her third trip to this Geek Squad; the first because of a hard drive malfunction and the second because of a cracked screen after she stepped on it. This time the contraption was making an irritating noise, but whenever she looked up "irritating noise coming from laptop" on Google nothing would pop up.

"Next," I boy behind the counter called.

She quickly made her way to the counter and placed down the gray piece of plastic. The boy in a shirt and tie looked flustered in front of her. Isabelle knew of her beauty since a young age. Over the years all the boys drooling over her got old.

"My laptop has been making a very annoying thumping sound, can you maybe check it out," she asked as friendly as she could.

"Ab-absolutely," he stammered.

She watched as he took the laptop to the back. His name tag had said Simon. Isabelle shook her head as she laughed at the boy. They were probably the same age; maybe he was even older. Either way, boys just seemed to be fascinated by Isabelle without her saying a word. Sometimes she loved the power, on other days she just wanted to blend in.

He came back shortly after with the computer in his hands. "I was correct; it was just a fan malfunction. I took out the faulty product and put in a new one."

Simon's brown hair ruffled as he turned the laptop over to show where exactly he fixed the problem.

"How old are you?" Isabelle asked while he was mid-sentence.

"Nineteen?" he answered back slowly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Isabelle smiled. Not at the fact that they were the same age, but at how lovable he was. He was so dorky, she couldn't get enough.

"And how long have you been fixing computers?"

He looked over his shoulder once before answering. "I got the job when I was seventeen even though you're supposed to be eighteen to even apply. I had a friend who worked here," he shrugged. Simon still looked wary of saying something dim-witted.

_Might as well get this over with; the more time to study the better_, Isabelle thought. She handed him the credit card her mother had given to her for emergencies. "Thanks so much for fixing this dumb old thing. I don't know what I would do without it," she said as he gave her back the card.

"No problem ma'am, just doing my job." Simon finally genuinely smiled at her.

"Isabelle. Don't call me ma'am. Just Isabelle." He nodded. "And who knows," I leaned across the counter and pulled at his tie. "With the way this laptop breaks I'll probably be here in a month. Bye, Simon."

Again she laughed at the sight of him- his glasses falling off his face, his mouth hanging open. It was all too priceless.

Isabelle slid into her car and opened the laptop on the passenger seat. _Just making sure I won't get home to find out that the noise is still there_, she told herself. As the PC lit up with her familiar desktop she noticed there was a sticky note tab opened in the taskbar. She clicked it, mystified at the unexplainable note.

In case I chicken out and I don't actually give it to you  
here's my number:  
(267) 532-0821  
Call me for anything; computer repair, a drink, a semi  
attractive boyfriend? Whatever you'd like. P.S. This is  
Simon (the guy who just fixed your laptop)

Isabelle's head fell forward after she grasped what the screen said. Maybe, just maybe, she would have to use that number some day. And it may just be for number two or three.

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**Kourtnie speaks: I'm open to requests at any time. Please, I always need help with getting inspired. xoxo**


	2. Simon Lightwood

**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

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"Isabelle," Simon nearly yelled. "We've gone over this a thousand times. It's not happening."

Isabelle, whose feet were draped over the edge of the couch, sighed. "Every time that I bring it up, you dismiss it."

"I don't dismiss it. I just tell you the truth."

Annoyed, she made her way into the kitchen, Simon followed right after her. "Well I think that the truth is stupid," Isabelle stated while pulling out the tomatoes she had boiled earlier to start dinner. She found the cutting board and placed the tomatoes on the glass. "I just don't see what the big deal is." She sliced the plump fruit in half with too much force.

Simon placed his hand over hers, relaxing her fingers where she was holding the knife too tightly. She sighed at his soft touch. Isabelle dropped the produce, and leaned back against him, shutting her eyes. His other arm wrapped around her.

They stayed silent for a few moments; the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room and their shallow breathing.

"It's not like I'm asking you to sacrifice yourself again," she finally whispered. The subject was touchy for both of them. The memories lost, the heartache she had went through. It was something both of them tried to avoid. As if feeling where this was going, Simon's thumb brushed over the small stone resting on the second finger of her left hand.

She spun around and looked up into his large brown eyes. "I'm just asking you to take my last name," Isabelle finished.

The ongoing arguments made Simon uneasy. Of course he wanted to please Isabelle –more than anything –but he wasn't sure if he could give into this one.

"You know how I feel," he said not knowing exactly what to say to her. He had told her time and time again that although he was now a Shadowhunter, he was brought up with mundane customs, and that was how he wanted this part to go. He wanted her to become Mrs. Lewis.

"Simon, I get it. I really do." Her hands slipped into his slightly clammy ones. "But this is important to me. There are no more Lightwoods. There was only ever us. And Alec took Bane, so I'm the only one left."

Alec and Magnus's over the top wedding brought a smile to both of their faces.

"Come on," she stepped forward so that they were chest to chest. "It doesn't sound_ too_ bad does it? To be a Lightwood?"

The idea did make his heart flutter –a sensation he thought he'd lost forever.

"Izzy, I don't know." He shook his head trying to clear it. He couldn't cave, _he couldn't cave. _ But when Isabelle got like this it made it all very difficult to think of anything else.

"Simon, please," she pleaded. Her eyes started to fill with tears. "I wouldn't be asking if not for Max. I have to, for him."

_The guilt card._ Isabelle bringing up Max happened just as frequently as she brought up Simon's sacrifice.

"And plus, you don't even have a Shadowhunter name. You can't really be a part of this world until you have one. Lightwood is a very honorable name to have."

Again, he knew all of this. He didn't want to be persuaded but the more and more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He was finally starting to fit in. He was no longer the mundane who dreamed about Clary and comics and his band. No longer a person the Lightwood's thought of as a joke. Now he was Simon, the Shadowhunter, who belonged at Izzy's side with the name strapped to his for the rest of his life. He knew it was true.

Simon groaned in aggravation. He wanted this one thing, but he knew that by accepting it, he would be opening himself up to a bunch of things that he wanted. And the one that was most important was spending the rest of his days with Isabelle.

"When I say yes-"

Her face which was braced for disappointment lit up at the three letter word. Her smile was contagious. "So it's a yes."

"I didn't finish. When I say yes, it's a flexible yes. Meaning," he held up a finger, "that I can change my mind, if I want."

"But you're not going to." Isabelle stood up on her tip toes to kiss the tip of Simon's nose. As she was lowering herself back to the ground he caught her lips in his. He didn't know what exactly drove the kiss, but it felt needed after the tense argument. The kiss lasted all of two seconds, but the pressure built up enough heat to finish cooking the dinner Isabelle had started.

"I think it has a nice ring to it. Simon Lightwood." She wiggled her eyebrows.

And Simon had to agree, although a bit reluctantly, that it was exactly what he wanted.


	3. A Princess's Life

_**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**_

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Isabelle sat on the edge of her bed waiting impatiently for her brother, Alec, to fetch her after his afternoon lecture. She had told almost everyone in the Lightwood palace that she was fully capable of finding her own way, but they didn't want to hear it. _You will be accompanied to and from places, that is how princesses go about, _mother had said.

That was the catch. All the books and stories about princesses and fairytales could be refuted. A lot of it was not true. The magic and the balls weren't as common as those stories made it seem. Being a princess was all about being pristine and perfect. It wasn't the life Isabelle wanted.

Just as her patience ran thin there was a slight knock on the large wooden doors. She stood and flattened out the folds in her dark blue dress before answering the sound.

She was shocked to see not her brother, but Simon, the stable boy, standing before her. Isabelle pulled him inside her bedroom, closing the door tightly behind her.

"What in the world are you doing here?" she whispered in horror. If Alec walked in now, she knew she would be a goner. Imagining her parents walking in was the definition of a nightmare.

"You don't want me here?" Simon asked taking a necessary step forward, letting his arms wrap around her waist.

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder at the door, fearing for the moment that someone would walk in. She had always met him in secret, never directly in the palace before. The nerves made her hands shake.

When her head whipped back around she found his face much closer than it had before. When their noses grazed, Isabelle's cheeks burned red.

"I want nothing more," she replied.

Their lips briefly touched, sending the usual butterflies down her stomach, when the door sounded. She jumped away from him in pure terror. "That's Alec," she whispered frantically.

Somehow, Simon looked calm and collected. "Tell him that you're not feeling well and that you must miss your painting lesson today."

"But Simon that's lying."

"And what we're doing right now; is this not lying?"

She felt guilt like a high tide. Isabelle had never wanted their relationship to be a secret, but it was not something a princess should be doing – going off and seeing the stable boy for other reasons than using the stables.

"Isabelle, are you alright?" Alec questioned from behind the door.

"Please, my love," Simon grabbed at her hands. "Just tell your brother this and we'll go somewhere together."

The idea was appealing – going off somewhere with Simon for the rest of the evening sounded heavenly. She nodded in agreement.

Simon hid on the other side of her wardrobe as she answered the door, putting on her best sick face.

"Brother, I am not well," she said, immediately feeling the fakeness behind her falsely placed words.

"Are you alright?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"I believe it was my mid morning tea. The crackers were the slightest bit off. I already notified the kitchen staff of the problem. I believe I must stay here and rest for the remainder of this evening. Tell Sir Starkweather that I am sorry for the inconvenience."

"It will be no problem at all, little sister. Please do feel better." Alec never questioned her. He left without another word.

Simon appeared at her side again just as she had closed the door.

"I have to show you something," was all he said. He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her along with him, out the door and down the corridor.

If anyone had seen how he touched her wrist, or held her while they kissed, they would be appalled. It was unladylike to be touched in such an informal manner. But Isabelle never cared.

They eventually stopped, both hunched over panting, in a small closet. Isabelle had spent her entire life in this castle and she never realized that that door was there.

"What is this?" she whispered. There was a light hum of people talking above them. "Where are we?"

"I found out that officials were bringing Sebastian Verlac to the palace to be questioned for his crimes."

The name brought her up short. Sebastian Verlac along with his father had tried to destroy the entire country. They failed, of course, but not without taking hundreds of innocent lives. Including her little brother's.

Max had been captured out of the castle and murdered a fortnight later. Nothing will ever describe opening up the front gates to find a nine year old boy chopped into pieces – his head mounted on a spike.

She did not quite understand what them being in a closet and the murderer of hundreds had in common.

"So I found this room, so we could listen to the trial. And look," he stood on his toes, "you can see what's going on in there if you stretch. They won't even know we're here."

Isabelle's blood was pumping. Women weren't allowed into court rooms, it was against the law. This could possibly be the closest she could ever get to an actual criminal. The idea made her lightheaded. She was going to see what the boy who murdered her brother was going to have to endure.

The court was filled with men, all wearing black robes with lettering written on them. The renowned judge, Sir Zachariah, wore the ceremonial white wig and fire shaped brooch, symbolizing the Lightwood home.

Shortly after the judge was seated and the other men on the council had followed suit, the discussions started.

"It has been alleged that the one in questioning has been tried for the murder of hundreds of townspeople? Is this correct brothers?"

A collective murmur echoed throughout the space. Isabelle stood on a box next to Simon to peer into the area. He gripped onto her hand helping her up, and refused to let go after she was situated.

The room was large and every square inch of the walls, ceiling, and flooring was white. The judges black robes stood out shockingly against the light color.

"Yes, Brother," a tall figure said from beside Judge Zachariah. "The boy, Sebastian Verlac, was a part of the devilish ways of Valentine, the one responsible for the Mortal War. Whereas Valentine was killed in battle, his son made back alive. Sebastian must be reprimanded for and as if he was his father."

"That does not seem fair," one council member said at the end of the table. He had thinning brown hair, his eyes set deep in his face indicating his old age. "Yes, he must be punished for the crimes he has committed, but by putting his father's responsibilities on his shoulders the kingdom will think that we are trying to pick a blame, which is what we are not doing. We will find justice some other way."

"We have found justice," another member called. "The closest thing we'll find next to Valentine is standing just in the other room_. His son._ Everyone on this council, in this palace, in this kingdom has been affected by this war. We must take who did this horrible injustice and kill him, for it is the right thing to do. Valentine, may he burn in hell, cannot pay for his crimes. I say we take his son's life away, just as they took away so many others."

"Are there any other ideas on what to do with the boy?" Sir Zachariah asked.

"Death. Death is the only answer. It is the only way we will know for sure that something like this won't happen again," a small member said in a crystal clear voice.

"He must be exiled," another called.

"For the greater good, Judge Zachariah, you must understand. We mustn't look past this indiscretion. He must be killed," the small man threw back at his brothers.

"He has done nothing for our society besides murder helpless workers. There must be a penalty for this boy."

Isabelle's heart iced over as the men before her fought. If she had a say there wouldn't be any further discussions.

Out of the small crowd of townspeople watching, a wretched man stepped forward. The signs of fatigue were evident on him. "I am sorry brothers, for I know this is a council meeting and the people don't have a say. But what I am about to say must be said. I see no reason to let him live. I believe we all forget, or try to forget, about the death that has affected us all. Yes, we cry and we mourn for our loved ones, our mothers and fathers and wives and children who have passed on. But will we just deny the fact, even as we sit in their home, that the king and queen's youngest son was brutally murdered as well? It seems unjust to talk about these things while in their abode and never mention it. We must always keep the king and queen in mind. They would vote execution for it would be the only way to grieve one last time."

The man's words rang through the room as he concluded his short speech. Isabelle hadn't realized her knees were shaking until she almost fell off the box she was standing on. Simon caught her before the ground did.

She held onto him as she silently sobbed. The tears ran thick down her cheeks as she thought of Max. She hadn't cried in front of anyone beside her mother before, _Princesses hold themselves together, even in the most stressful of situations. __S_o gripping onto Simon as she fell apart was different.

After she collected herself she looked up at him, her whole face saturated as if she had recently come out of a bath. "Thank you," she whispered.

The enigma was written all over his face. "For what?" He used the back of his hand to dry the tears that she hadn't known were still flowing.

"Being here. Letting me cry. Holding me when I want to be held. All these things that I'm not supposed to do, feel incredibly right when I'm with you. Simon, you mean _so much to me_," she stressed.

"You know," he paused, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers, seeming unfazed by her words. "I sometimes wonder why _you_, out of everyone here, would pick me. I'm just the stable boy after all."

"Simon, stop it. Don't be so base."

"I'm not being that way. I speak the truth, and you know it. You deserve the world, and yet you choose me. It baffles me sometimes how it could be so."

Before she could even take a breath, she let the words tumble out of her mouth, leaving the truth out in the open for the first time. "It's because I love you."

He looked at her longingly, brushing back her hair and looking directly into her eyes as he said the words back. "As I love you."

He bent forward and lightly feathered his lips across her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally ending with her mouth where his lips came with crashing force.

She could taste the salt from her tears as they embraced in the small closet, but she didn't have the energy to care. It was perfect. Every inch of her felt Simon and Simon only.

Through the tears and kisses she vaguely heard Judge Zachariah make the decision of execution. She felt like she was flying.

For the first time in her life, encased in the love of her life's arms, she finally felt like a princess.

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**Kourtnie speaks: lol I write fanfic and hand it into my English teacher for grades**


	4. Breakfast in Bed

_**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**_

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Simon bent the small pink flower so it draped over the vase just a hair. The heart shaped chocolate chip pancakes, hash browns and bacon were plated separately that way her food didn't touch.

Isabelle had been having a hard time at work lately, and he hated seeing her so upset all the time. So he thought of the perfect combination of things she liked: food and bed.

He walked down the small hallway of their apartment to their bedroom. Just as he had left her, Isabelle slept with all her glory. Her hand draped over her forehead, one leg off the bed, her mouth was even the slightest bit open. Simon chuckled at her from the door.

_Even in sleep she looked beautiful, _Simon thought.

He opened the curtains, letting the light in. Isabelle moaned as the brightness hit her now squinted eyes. She tossed the blanket over her head, trying to block out the sun. He kneeled beside the bed and threw the blanket back.

"Good morning," his lips pressed against her temple. "I brought you something to eat."

Slowly her left eye opened to look up at him. "Really?" Her voice was still scratchy with sleep.

The smell of the food by his feet wafted into the air. Isabelle's nose perched up like a dogs.

"I smell chocolate and bacon. You must really love me."

Simon could basically see her mouth watering as she sat up from the entangled blankets. He placed the stand up tray over her lap and was about to head back to the kitchen to clean up his mess, but a sound of disappointment came from behind him.

"Where are you going?" When Isabelle was upset her voice shot up a level. He was shocked to hear that tone right now.

"I need to clean the kitchen up," he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the room.

She shook her head, her hair flying everywhere, and tapped the spot next to her. "We'll clean up later. Come sit."

He thought of the bowl of bacon grease that would be all but impossible to clean out if he didn't let it soak. _It's just a bowl. We have plenty others, _he thought as he joined Isabelle on the bed.

For the next hour they talked, laughed and fed each other the breakfast.

Simon wasn't sure which was sweeter; Isabelle smiling for the first time in days or the chocolate flavored kisses she gave him.

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**Kourtnie speaks: 1)This is the shortest thing I've ever written 2)I think it came out like shit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**


	5. Rockstar Simon

**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

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As Simon looked around his penthouse he couldn't help but smile. Eric and Matt had invited friends back to his apartment after their gig that night, but word must have gotten out. This get together had turned into a full-fledged party. And somebody brought the booze.

Drink after drink Simon began to feel lighter; began to feel free. He hadn't felt this good in weeks.

* * *

He was awoken by a tap on his shoulder. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was singing _Sweet Caroline_ on the kitchen island with a large crowd of people.

"Dude, get up," someone kicked him in the side.

"Maia, don't be rude," a gentler voice snapped, clearly feminine.

"Ugh?" Simon groaned pushing his hands to his forehead. The pounding in his head wouldn't reside. Out of nowhere there was a sharp pain in his stomach.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked, her hand pressed tenderly against his back.

He shook his head, feeling the party from last night coming up his throat. He made a beeline to the closest bathroom.

His whole body shook as he wretched into the toilet. The world was spinning around him. The cold porcelain was welcomed as he laid his face on it after he was finished.

Through the haze of exhaustion and hangover he felt a light touch on his forehead, like his mother used to when he was a kid.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" he slurred, not thinking about what exactly he was saying.

"I don't think your mother would approve of the state you're in. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Fighting the nausea, Simon opened his eyes. The girl's face softened as he looked at her. He had to admit that she was something to look at; all angles and dark colors.

She kept one hand on him at all times as they stumbled over the garbage and through the few people who were still there from the night before.

"Maia, can you get me a ginger ale from the fridge? Looks like someone here needs it," she gestured toward Simon.

He plopped into bed relishing in the feeling of the soft comforter. The beautiful girl came back a minute later, a glass of what had to be ginger ale in her hand.

"This will settle your stomach. Trust me, I should know." She handed him the glass.

The coolness from the glass felt nice on his clammy skin. He wasn't going to pry but she answered his unasked question without hesitation.

"They give me so many different shakes and pills and diets, and it always seems to make me sick not skinnier. I drink a ginger ale a day and it keeps me from throwing everything up. Which I guess, they would prefer I did anyway," she rolled her eyes. "You already have a life as a rock star, so it's kinda pointless to tell you but; don't go into the modeling agency. It's pure hell."

Simon wanted to tell her that she had no reason to be dieting and throwing up; that she was beautiful the way she was, but the words wouldn't form on his lips.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her teeth were perfectly white as a smile lit up her face.

He shook his head.

"You must be drunker than I thought," she giggled.

"No, I'm not," Simon replied, knowing that that was exactly what someone who was beyond wasted would say.

Without wasting any more time the girl tucked Simon in, pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes. The sensitive skin tingled where her fingers brushed.

"I'm gonna leave the ginger ale right here, okay?" She had left the soda on the side table Simon usually left his phone. _Where in the world did that go to_, he thought. _And when did I give her the glass back?_

Just as she was about to turn the lights out Simon spoke up beside the tickle in his throat. "I'm Simon."

She glanced down at her feet as she laughed. "Yes Simon, I know who you are."

"Thank you," was all he said before she closed the door encasing the room in darkness.

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**Kourtnie Speaks: Thank you **_Me ofrezco como Tributo _**for the request! Thinking about working on a part 2 of this one hmmm...**


	6. Medical Students

**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

* * *

Isabelle swallowed back bile as she looked down at the cadaver. The boy laying flat on the hard metal sheet had to be no older than ten years old. She wished she could have brought him a pillow or a blanket or something, just so she could cover him up. He looked cold.

_Pull yourself together, Isabelle,_ she thought._ This is just another body, nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be sad about. Just another dead body, nothing is different. _But it was different, this was a child.

She stared at the corpse while the rest of her class came in. Isabelle noted that the little boy looked wan under the fluorescent lights; something she hadn't realized until her colleagues were surrounding her, filling the room with a constant buzz of chatter.

"Quiet down," the doctor said as he walked in. Everyone listened to the man's command. "I'm Dr. Bane. Today is going to be short and simple. You will all be dismissed after we are done with this postmortem."

The class nodded in agreement. Isabelle looked across the group to see if there were any familiar faces, and was surprised when she saw one. Simon was standing on the other side of the room. They had interned at the same sanatorium over the summer. It hadn't been her favorite job, but she surely can say that the past summer had been the best one yet. And the boy with the glasses had something to do with it.

He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him.

Just as Dr. Bane went to stand by the body at the center of the room, Simon traversed over to her, barely making it through the sixteen students alert with the task at hand.

"Hey," he whispered awkwardly.

"Hi," she tried her best not to smile as she held her clipboard to her chest.

"Okay class. First we need to figure out what is wrong. Does anyone have any ideas?" the doctor inquired.

"How about we do an internal examination?" a girl with brown hair suggested.

"We will get there, I promise, but any other suggestions?" the doctor asked.

Isabelle was clearly disconsolate as she answered for her clueless classmates. "You always start an autopsy with an external examination. You literally learned this in your first week of med school," she said in the general region of the girl who said internal examination. "But first we have to discuss location. Doctor, was he in a place where he wouldn't have usually been?"

"Good, Isabelle," Doctor Bane informed her. "First you ask the important questions. Are there any visible injuries? Did these injuries have to do with the death? What was his or her location? All these have important significance when it comes to finding out the cause of death. Second, we do an external examination to establish identity, locate evidence if there is any, or to propose a cause of death. Do we have any educated guesses before we continue?"

The room filled with jabbers between students.

"So I haven't seen you since the summer," Simon leaned toward Isabelle, pretending to look at his notes.

"I don't want to talk about it." She snapped. _The audacity he must have to bring up the summer,_ she thought. _What an ass_.

"I believe it's all too vague to determine," Simon called out from her side. "All you can tell is that whatever caused his death wasn't something on the outside. A sprained ankle could hardly be considered death worthy." The class laughed.

"We have to open him up," Isabelle chimed in loud enough for the rest of them to hear, though she intentionally was going to mumble it to Simon.

"Yes," the doctor smiled, obviously impressed by their teamwork. "If you'll just step over here I'll show you what and where you'll find what you need."

As Isabelle took a step forward Simon's hand flew out, pushing her back.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I wanna talk to you."

"And you think right now is the best time?" She looked over as the scholars were hunched over writing down every word the doctor said.

"Why haven't you returned my calls?"

She looked up in surprise. "Calls? I haven't gotten any; if I had you don't think I would have picked up or called back or something?"

Simon looked nonplussed. "I had just thought that you didn't want to talk to me."

"I always want to talk to you Simon. You're the one who just left without saying goodbye."

"I found out that I got accepted into the medical program at NYU and I freaked out and rushed home. I called you a thousand times to tell you and when you didn't answer I just took it as a sign to stop contacting you."

Isabelle knew that she should be paying attention to the lecture, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"NYU?" she questioned. She knew it had always been his dream to go to New York University, but she kept her expression tepid.

"If your underlying question is about Cornell – no, I didn't get in."

Her heart filled with uneasy. She had convinced him to apply to Cornell's medical school to be with her, and at the time he told her that he wouldn't get in. She had believed in him so unbelievably much that even now learning the news was disappointing.

"I'm sorry," was all she said before she turned back toward the doctor who was performing an incision along the boy's middle.

As she watched Dr. Bane examine all little things inside the body, she felt Simon take a step closer.

"But if I had gotten into Cornell, there's no doubt in my mind that I would have stayed at that stupid internship until the end of the summer with you."

"Simon, I can't do this right now. I need to pay attention." It pained her to say the words.

"Then maybe _later_," he said putting a bit too much emphasis on the last word.

It was unvarnished that he was asking her out, but she tried to push the thought to the back of her mind. She needed to focus, to not worry about Simon. Not worrying about the fact that they had a second chance.

"So what can we tell from this," Dr. Bane gestured down at the opened chest.

"The upper airways are flooded," someone answered.

"He drowned," Simon answered confidently. Isabelle couldn't understand why she was so happy at his correct answer.

"Yes, he drowned in a rivulet," the doctor informed the students.

"A what?" a boy asked from the front of the group.

Isabelle exhaled in exasperation. "Did you even go to college? A rivulet is a stream."

The boy's head fell toward the ground.

"The patient had been playing out in the woods by himself. He tripped, which explains the sprain to the right talocrural joint. The ground surrounding the _stream,_" he stressed the word, "was covered in mud. His foot got caught, the ground wasn't steady enough to push himself up out of and he drowned."

The class again rumbled to life, talking between each other.

"Okay, so on that note, you're all dismissed. Great job today everyone."

Isabelle dashed out the door immediately and waited for Simon outside the autopsy room.

He came out, looking around frantically until her saw her. Now in the bright hospital halls, he looked even better then she remembered.

"I'm sorry; I needed to get out of there," she breathed as he crossed the hall.

"It's alright. Sometimes I get the same way."

"It was just too much. With my little brother passing away, and you –" she cut off her words.

"What about me?" He took a step closer.

"That you just pop up back into my life like the last seven months didn't happen. They happened Simon. I went through months of agony, wondering what I did wrong. And now you show back up and act like nothing happened."

"I'm not saying nothing happened. I thought you were the one who didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"Why in the world would you think that? You knew how I felt about you. And if you felt the same you would have found me. You would have stopped the misery so many months ago." She stormed off in the direction of the exit.

"Isabelle you know that's not the case," he grabbed at her arm. She pulled it away.

"I don't give a damn what happened. I was in Ithaca, and you were in the city. It's a four hour drive, Simon. You could have came to me, but you didn't."

"It was the wrong choice. I should have –"

"Yeah. You should have." She tried walking away again, but this time he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her without a second of hesitation.

They stayed embraced in the hallway for a short while. After their frantic kisses turned into gentler ones she looked up into his brown eyes.

"Is there any way that you can forgive me? I promise if there had been another way, I would have found it. Izzy, please."

She thought about the two months of heaven with Simon all those months ago. How he would rant about things that bothered him. How he let her talk about the things that she loved. How wonderfully they worked together. Their relationship had been as perfect as it could get. So she couldn't help herself when she nodded yes.

* * *

**Kourtnie Speaks: Sorry that this update was a little late. I have the second part of Rockstar!Simon done, I just need to finish editing, so that's coming out within the next few days. ****This was another one of those spelling homeworks 3 Thanks for all the support!**


	7. Rockstar Simon Part 2

**Disclaimer: This is a continuation from Chapter 5, but otherwise all stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

* * *

Simon awoke in a start. His head was no longer spinning; he didn't have the unsettling feeling to throw up. The alarm clock read five in the evening, though his room was pitch black. He stumbled over his laundry basket to flip on the lights. The brightness was blinding.

He opened the door hesitantly, fearing the mess that he knew his apartment would be, but was surprisingly shocked. The last time he saw his living room it had been filled with beer cans and half naked women prancing around. Now it was as spotless as it had been the day he bought it.

Only then did he realize the hallow feeling in his stomach. He passed Eric, who was passed out on the couch, on the way to the kitchen. He mechanically grabbed a random box of cereal, pouring it into a bowl and headed to the refrigerator. His hand grazed the milk when he saw an opened green can. Simon turned his attention to the object; the milk and cereal completely forgotten.

As he spun around the cylinder, images of that morning poured into his head. The girl who was far too kind helped him into bed when he wasn't able to and brought him a ginger ale, ice, bendy straw and all.

"Eric," Simon shouted slamming the refrigerator door shut. "Wake up."

His friend groaned and rolled over onto his back, clearly annoyed that he was awoken from his slumber. "What?"

"The people," he glanced at the ginger ale can he still had in his hand. "The people you invited last night, I need to know their names."

"My hangover is killer dude, what do you want?" Eric moaned.

"_The guest list, _Eric. I need the guest list."

"What for," he squinted against the light.

"Because I need the name of someone that was here."

He smirked. "Was she hot?"

"Yeah, but that's not why I'm asking." It was always about the looks for Eric. "I need to tell her something."

"You need to tell a girl something, but you didn't ask for her name? Dude that's low even for you."

"Eric, shut up you make me seem worse than I am. So do you have the list?"

"Nah. I invited Sam and Lucas. They invited everyone else."

Simon groaned in frustration. "Then can you call Sam and Lucas and ask."

"Being this desperate could be considered a turn off."

"Awesome. Can you call your jerk off friends or what?"

"Yeah, yeah, it'll get done," he waved off his friend, lying back against the couch.

"No. No, 'it'll get done's.' Give me your phone if you won't do it."

"Upstairs bathroom. Cabinet above the toilet."

He didn't even want to ask. Simon retrieved the cell phone and found the numbers of the two pricks who destroyed his apartment.

The quick conversation didn't help much; just some new names and numbers. Phone call after phone call he got nowhere closer to finding out the identity of the unknown girl. After calling the ninth person he finally heard something relieving.

"Wait, wait, wait can you repeat what you just said?" he stumbled.

"Um, Kyle invited me and all my girls. We're models at Roberts Agency."

"Oh my god," he sighed. "That is so fantastic to hear. I met a girl last night at the party, but I never got her name. And I was wondering if you could tell me her name and maybe a way to contact her?"

"How do you know that she's a part of our agency?"

"I mean, I might be going with my gut, but I've called almost ten people and no one else has mentioned being a model or working for a modeling agency I know for a fact she said she was a model."

"How do I know that you're not some weird creeper or somethin'?" the girl asked.

Simon couldn't understand why he was so desperate to find this girl; why he was going to this much length to find out her name. The only thing he could think of was that even though he had been having the worst hangover that he had ever experienced; there was chemistry between them, a chemistry that he had never felt before.

With a hesitant sigh he said, "You know the person's party you went to last night?"

"Yeah, of course. Simon Lewis. He's the bass player for The Mortal Instruments."

"What if I told you that that's me?"

There was a pause. "Prove it."

"I don't have time for this. Can you help me or not?"

"If you're really Simon Lewis then maybe I can. But if I give you this information and I find out that you're not really him, I'm gonna find you and murder you myself."

"It's a good thing I'm Simon then," he joked.

"Okay fine, what do you want to know?"

_Finally. _"There was this girl; she had really dark hair and pale skin. And if I can remember right she was very tall, almost as tall as me. And she kept calling to someone," he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the name. "M- May- My- _Maia_, I think."

The girl on the other end laughed. "That doesn't help much. Maia Roberts is friends with just about everyone. Well, I mean everyone wants to be her friend even though she kinda keeps to herself. Her mom owns the agency, so obviously they want to get as close to her mother as possible. And as for the description, sorry. Practically all the girls here are pale and tall. There's forty five of us models and probably twenty five of us have brown or black hair. I can tell you all the people who went, maybe that will help. We can see if you recognize a name."

"That's the problem. I was completely shitfaced when I met her. I didn't get a name."

She heaved a sigh. "Okay. You know where Java Jones is?"

"Oh course, it's like the best place to get coffee in Brooklyn."

"Meet me there in twenty minutes. And if you're really Simon Lewis, you'll be there on time."

"I'll be there. It's right down the road. But can I ask what we're going to do?"

"I believe we're gonna find this mystery girl of yours. I'll see you in twenty."

"Wait," he shouted into the phone. "Are you going to find me or am I going to find you?"

"I know what Simon Lewis looks like, so I'll be looking for him."

"_Me_. You'll be looking for _me_," he stressed to the girl. "You know, I should probably have asked this first but, what's your name?"

"Don't be scared when a girl in a big green coat walks up to you. See you soon."

"Your name?" Simon tried again.

"Oh, sorry. My name's Clary."

* * *

Simon, a cup of Java Jones' caramel latte in his hands, waited for this Clary girl to show up. A few minutes later, just like she promised, Clary walked toward him in a big green coat. She had bright red hair that elegantly curled around her round face.

"Wow, I guess you weren't lying. It's nice to meet you Simon," she held out a petite hand. Just like her face, the skin of her hand was painted with freckled.

"So how are we going to do this exactly?" He clutched onto his warm cup.

"First you're gonna follow me. Once we get to where we're going then I'll explain it to you."

So they walked. It was only a few blocks of the familiar New York City streets before they stopped at a brick building, one just like the rest.

"I didn't have to go in today, but a lot of the girls did. They should be getting out," Clary looked down at her watch, "any minute actually."

Clary and Simon stood in silence, both listening to the sounds they had both grown so attuned to. The passing cars, the honking horns, people chattering and dogs parking. It made Simon calm.

And out of nowhere he saw her; a head of black hair bobbing through the crowd. He took off after her.

"Simon," Clary yelled from behind him. He felt bad for leaving her behind, but he was afraid that if he took his eyes off the girl in front of him, he'd lose her.

He pushed past people, trying to be as gentle as possible though he knew he accidentally elbowed a woman and slapped a man in the face.

She was walking with another girl, whose hair was pulled back but was puffed up in curls. Both were wearing black leather jackets. He reached forward and spun his mystery girl around.

"Simon?" She seemed completely stunned to see him.

He hadn't realized that he had been running until he tried talking. His lungs burned and he couldn't form words.

"Are you okay," she reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

He nodded, embarrassed at how out of shape he was. She pulled him aside so they were out of the ongoing traffic of people walking.

"I never got your name," he panted.

The shock was evident on her face. "I didn't even think you would have remembered me."

"I did. You helped me this morning; when I was too hung-over to do anything. I needed you to know that I'm not usually like that."

"I didn't think you were."

"Well that's a relief," he was finally able to catch his breath. "I wouldn't want you thinking anything negatively about me."

She shooed her friend away. "I'll text you later, Maia."

Simon looked behind him and faintly caught the sight of a flash of green and red.

"Why did you find me?" She genuinely was curious.

After the evening he had it seemed ridiculous not to tell her. But as she stood before him, now slightly taller with high heels on, he became quite nervous. "Well, you told me you're a model."

Her black hair fell into her face. "You really remember everything, don'cha."

Simon fought the urge to brush back the hair covering her eyes by shoving his hands in his pockets. "You told me you're a model and that they make you take pills and do diets to get skinny and whatnot, and for some reason this morning I couldn't form words –"

"Probably because you were piss drunk," she laughed.

He couldn't fight the smile that came. "But I can talk now." The setting sun turned the sky pink and orange behind the girl's head. This time he let his hand brush back a piece of stray hair that flew in her face. Her cheeks grew pink.

"No one told me you were a charmer."

And at that moment he realized that he hadn't wasted his day to just tell her that she was beautiful and that all the shit that she did to be a model was unnecessary. He had done it because there had been a connection, at least on his part. He needed _t__his_, whether it became a thing or not. Getting to know this girl was what he wanted; not just a quick hello, what's your name, goodbye.

So it didn't shock him in the slightest when he asked, "Can we start over? Because I searched for a girl without a name all day and I still feel like a jerk."

Her smile was almost as bright as the colorful sky behind her. "Okay," she snickered as he held her hand out. "Isabelle."

The named sounded sweet to his ears.

"Simon."

* * *

A/N: I'm so tired I actually think I'm gonna die. Sorry it's been a crazy couple of weeks. I'll try to update more frequently. Super sorry if there are any grammatical errors. I haven't even read it all the way through once.

Another one shot coming very soon...


	8. One Step Back

Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.

* * *

*This one can be considered as triggering, so please, if you've ever had suicidal thoughts or actions, I'd skip this one. I was trying to write from a darker place and I'm not quite sure how it came across.*

* * *

"Have you seen Izzy?" Simon called over the loud pounding music. Alec, who would normally be worried about his sister, paid little attention to Simon's demanding tone. He seemed to be too busy grinding with his boyfriend. "Alec! Hey, listen!"

Finally Alec peered up in annoyance. "What do you want Lewis? Can't you tell I'm a little busy?" The cat ears on top of his head were askew. _Most of the costumes at this Halloween Party are tasteless_ _and the definition of tacky_, Simon thought.

"I can't find Isabelle," Simon tried again. He knew he had no right to be curious, he had lost that privilege.

"I thought when my sister dumped your sorry ass you'd be gone from my life forever. Now if you would excuse me," he shouted as he returned to his work with his boyfriends hips.

Simon rolled his eyes and headed in the opposite direction, looking throughout the groups of people for a head of familiar black hair. He wasn't able to explain why, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. _R__eally_ wrong.

He had blown up her phone with texts and calls, telling her to call him when she had a chance. But so far, nothing.

From a distance Simon could see people that he knew, and was relieved when he saw a set of red curls.

"Clary," he grabbed at her elbow. "Clary, have you seen Isabelle?"

She looked disoriented after she was quickly spun around. Her eyes crossed and her arm stuck out to hold onto him. The inordinate amount of alcohol she had consumed was evident.

"Izzy?" she questioned truly showing signs of her drunkenness.

"Yes, Clary, focus. Have you seen Isabelle at all?"

Clary ticked her tongue as she pondered over an answer. "I'm pretty sure she said something about the roof. But I don't know if I can remember," she slurred.

"It's a start," Simon mumbled.

"Wait Simon," Clary reached for him and missed. She didn't try again. "Why do you care? It's Izzy. She's fine. And I'm confused cause I'm pretty sure that she just about hates you now."

He didn't let the words get to him. "Clary, I don't know, okay? I just want to find her. Something is off about this and I can't explain it." He didn't turn around to see what or how she would have responded. He headed straight to the door that led to the roof.

Simon opened the door to a brisk night, the October air settling down on New York City like the crystalline innards of an icebox. It looked all but empty apart from a few scattered lifeless attempts of a garden.

He was about to head back downstairs to the heated apartment, when he saw her.

She stood with her back to him; placid on the edge of the roof.

Simon could feel just about everything in that moment. He felt the slight change in the direction of the breeze. He felt the building beneath him start thumping to a different beat; could feel the cars honking and the people yelling from down below. But even through all that he felt his heart turn to ice.

He didn't know what to do or what to say, but he was sure of one thing. He was scared.

Isabelle wasn't the type of girl who would stand on a parapet to gaze at the city below her. If that had been what she was doing she would have just leaned over the edge, not stood up on the life altering platform.

Her hair blew in the wind and her skin looked pallid from either the faint glow of the city lights or the frigid air, he couldn't tell. Either way, he didn't like the image before him.

He knew he needed to say something or she might take the step. So he spoke with care, making sure that his voice wasn't too loud or angry or judgmental. "Izzy?"

Her reaction wasn't a dramatic response, in which he was thankful, but he could tell just slightly that her back straightened a little at the resonance.

"Izzy?" He took a step forward, the gravel crunching under his foot sounded as loud as bullets on a battlefield.

"Simon, don't," she croaked while shaking her head furiously.

He was only a few feet away from her. "Isabelle, can you come here please?"

Again she shook her head. "No Simon. Can you go downstairs?" He could hear the hurt in her voice.

"I'm gonna stay right up here with you actually. I'm-I'm not leaving you." If he left he knew she would do it; take the step to her death.

"I don't want you up here, can you go downstairs?"

Although she wouldn't see it, he shook his head desperately, letting the weight guide it back and forth. He tried to think about what to do. He knew for certain that you never get angry with a person in this situation; he needed to stay calm and collected. He knew that he needed to show that he cared, and that he wanted her alive.

"Iz, please. I just want to help you," his voice was anxious. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"_SIMON_. _I don't need your help_."

* * *

The more she looked at it; the drop seemed to grow larger and larger. Simon showing up had ruined everything. She had had the plan for about a week, either it being the pills at home or the roof at the party. Everything that was happening, it was too much for Isabelle to handle.

The deciding factor had been Simon actually. At the sight of him dancing with Maia is what drove her to the edge. When she broke up with him for cheating on her she thought it had been for the best; but since then, her spur of the moment decision had been proven otherwise.

"Iz, please. I just want to help you," he said.

She couldn't help but inwardly chuckle at the word 'want.' She was positive that he didn't give a shit about her. He had been the one to push her over her limit, basically the one that brought her to this rooftop. He didn't _want _to do anything for her.

"_SIMON_. _I don't need your help_," she yelled hysterically.

It took him a few moments to recuperate but eventually answered, "Then how about we talk?"

It sounded like he sat down on the gravel behind her, but she didn't turn to look. She continued to stare at the city below, at the colors that morphed from dark to light, or the sunset in front of her, that started out in light pinks and oranges and flowed into darker purples and blacks. She felt like both images displayed before her were done by the excellent hand of an artist trying to grasp her existence.

"Why don't you talk to Maia?" she spat letting the venom run through her question.

As she let the words sting, her green dirndl flew in the wind; a steady beat of the wind off the river. _What a stupid dress, for a stupid party, that goes along with my stupid life,_ she thought.

"I don't want to talk to Maia. I want to talk to you," he tried.

"Bull," she mumbled taking in the view of below again. It was a long drop to the bottom, but she could also see the beauty of it; falling through darkness until she was finally caught by the light.

"Izzy, I've been looking for you all night."

"That's strange because when I saw you last, you were practically swallowing Maia whole," her voice didn't have its usual upbeat superiority, it just sounded empty.

He didn't have a response.

"I want to be alone," she pleaded.

"How are you?" he asked out of nowhere. He sounded like he was closer than he had been before, though she hadn't heard him move.

No one had asked her that question in a long time. She wasn't okay, she knew that much. For Christ's sake she was standing on the edge of a building waiting for him to leave so she could stop everything. Stop all the pain, stop all the heartbreak. She just wanted it to stop.

"We reposed my brother Simon, how do you think I am?"

Max's funeral had been almost three months ago, but it still felt like it was happening. She felt like a part of her went into that casket with him as he was lowered down into the earth.

"I never got an invite to the funeral you know." He sounded upset. "I was in your life long enough for me to get an invite, Isabelle." As he went on his words grew angrier. "I had taken Max out for ice cream too many times to count. We went to so many of his Little League games together. Your entire family would take me up to the lake house each summer and we'd have the best time; I taught your little brother how to swim. I don't get why, even if I'm the most terrible person in the whole world for what I did to you, I didn't get invited to your little brother's funeral."

Her face scrunched as the tears poured down her face. She knew at the time that not telling Simon about the funeral would be a crushing loss for both of them. She knew he wanted to be there. And she had dreadfully needed him there, even though at that point she had broken it off. She needed his arms, she needed his words_, she just_ _needed him. _But she was the one who crossed out his number on the long list of people to call on her mother's notepad.

"Isabelle, hey. I didn't mean to yell, I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to cross your name out," she whimpered. The cold of the wind finally pierced through the skimpy outfit, making her shiver.

"Why don't you just step done and we can go inside and talk. Maybe warm you up, get some food in you."

For the first time in weeks she laughed. "You're so ignorant. I don't want to go inside and talk. Can't you see that it hurts, Simon?" she cried. "It hurts all the damn time and it won't go away and I can't make it stop. Everything is falling apart. First you, and then Max, then my parents' divorce, Alec moving away. It's just too much. I can't – I can't do it anymore." The entire time her voice shook. She took a small step forward.

"Hey, hey, hey, no, no, no." She could picture him holding his hands out to try to catch her. Her feet were lined up with the absolute edge. One more step and it would be all over.

"Isabelle, can you take one step back for me?"

She shook her head and sucked in her last breath. Closing her eyes, she started shifting her weight to the balls of her feet.

"Izzy, please listen to me," he was absolutely frantic.

She didn't want to. The unbearable pain pulsated throughout her body. It was so close to being over, she actually smiled.

"Isabelle, I want you to think about something. Can you think about that party senior year for me? The one after homecoming? Do you remember it?"

She caught herself thinking back to that night and how she enjoyed all the alcohol that she was given. They had lost Homecoming King and Queen to their best friends and instead of going back to their house as they had promised they went to a party.

The dybbuk licking its way down her throat felt comforting that night. Feeling the warmth that encased her after she downed another glass made her body tingle, though that could just as easily been Simon's arms steadily wrapped around her.

She remembered those insolent guys that sexually harassed her when she ran out to her car to get her phone. Simon had been waiting inside for her until she had taken too long. He stopped the guys and brought her inside and made her forget them all together.

"What did I say to you that night?" he asked, breaking her from the recollection.

The diaphanous layer of sweat beaded up along her neck and hands despite the chilling air. Hastily she tried wiping it along the back of her legs. "You told me you loved me," she sniffled.

"Yeah? What else? I know you remember."

She did.

"_Aren't you worried that no matter what you do or who you become you'll never be important enough?" she had sobbed while in the bathroom of that house._

"_I don't understand," he said. _

"_You'll never understand because you're not like me. I'll never be good enough for my parents. I'll never be smart enough to get into college. I don't get why _you _even stick around anymore. I'm useless." _

_He had pulled her to him, making sure nothing could pass between them, not even a meager piece of dust. Simon while in the same position whispered into her neck, "You can't think like that. _You_ are the most important person in my entire life. _You _are everything to me Isabelle. I love you."_

She gasped for air and took the innocuous step backward. The tears swelled and flowed freely, her hand covering her mouth.

"Isabelle, you are important and you matter. If not to anyone else, then to me."

She crouched down quickly and held onto the inner edge, the edge closest to Simon and shook harder than she had ever shook before. Her eyes stung, her lungs felt heavy, and her legs felt unstable. She felt even worse than she had on the ledge staring at death.

But when Simon's hand came into view she clung to it as hard as she could, feeling relief as the warmth of his hand came in contact with hers. He wrenched her to his body.

For a while she just cried; gripped onto him for dear life, and painfully he was doing the same. The pain now was different though. The crippling pain that she had felt while standing up on the edge was gone and had been replace with the real, whole feeling of being crushed by another person.

Simon didn't say anything; he just gently rubbed her back and occasionally pressed his lips to her forehead.

When she finally looked up from the tear stained _Star Trek _shirt he wore, their eyes connected. She kissed him without even thinking about it. She hadn't meant for it to happen, but she didn't stop it when it did. They became one again, and for the first time since they had broken up she could breathe easily.

"And what I said that night," he said between kisses, "it's all still true today, and it'll still be true tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. I'm here, Izzy. I'll always be here for you."

* * *

**A/N:** Another English assignment that I meant to post on Halloween, oops. I tried to write a darker side and I'm not quite sure how it came across. Practice makes perfect though right?


	9. Quarter Quickie

**Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.**

* * *

It was Friday night, and I was washing bras and underwear while my friends got drunk at the bar downtown. I couldn't help but laugh at myself because if someone asked me how my college years went I could say that I spent most Friday nights washing bras and underwear, and it wouldn't be the slightest bit untrue.

Partying was fun; drinking was fun, but when you had a test in a class every other week, partying seemed really irrelevant and childish. Thirty thousand dollars every year wasn't something I could overlook easily.

The laundry room was deserted, as it should be, when I heard a set of feet coming toward the room; a set of running feet. A figure ran past the room, a flash of green and black, before they turned on their heel back to the laundry room.

It was a boy –pants barely on, shirt completely unbuttoned, glasses askew, hair all ruffled –basically the epitome of what a guy looked like after sex.

He was panting and clutching the door frame, with shame written all over his face. I realized I was staring at him widely with my lacy bra held up for all to see. I threw it down into the pile of clothes that needed to be folded and turned toward the boy. The harder I stared at his face I couldn't help but feel like I knew the half dressed boy in front of me.

After he had caught his breath enough he cocked his head to the side questioningly. "Hey, you're in my Comp II class, right?"

I leaned back against the machine I was using, realizing that he was right. He sat three or four rows behind me, but I couldn't remember much else about him.

"Yeah, I think I am," my hand worked its way into my messy bun, releasing a few pieces.

"Professor Starkweather, right?"

I nodded, and looked back at my laundry quickly; trying to clue the guy into the fact that I was busy and didn't want to talk. He apparently didn't get my subtle gesture.

"Yeah, well, I need to ask a favor," the boy ran his hands down the front of his jeans.

"Which is what exactly, stranger who I barely know?"

Again he rubbed his hands on his jeans, looking from the floor back up to me. His eyes traced over my body from head to toe. All of a sudden I felt subconscious in my ratty old 'I Heart New York' T-Shirt and cotton sweatpants. My face flushed.

"I'm –I'm uh –short," he eventually said, not exactly making eye contact.

"Short what?"

"Ugh- I'm sorry, this is like really awkward. Do you have a –a quarter by any chance?"

"Why? Do you have some spontaneous laundry that needs to be done?" I joked turning back to my sack of change by my laundry basket.

"Not exactly," he rubbed at his face. "I need –need to get – a condom." His face was bright red. I felt mine turn the same color.

"A condom?" I asked in disbelief. He didn't exactly look like the kind of guy who ran around dorm buildings trying to find a condom.

"Yeah, I kinda need it, like right now, and I hate to ask random people to help me out here but it's kinda urgent. You see my girlfriend, she's been out of town for a while and my sex life has been nonexistent accordingly and she's only here until-"

I didn't let him finish the enthralling story. "That's fascinating and all, but I can think of a million things that I'd rather think about than your sex life." I dug a quarter out of my change bag and held it out to him.

On his clumsy half run/half walk over to me he tripped over his untied shoes and fell to his hands and knees. My free hand covered my mouth to hide my widening smile. The boy got to his feet in a rush. I couldn't decided which was funnier, him tripping over his own two feet or watching him hastily jump back up. He was nothing but long limbs and an uncoordinated mess.

He held his hand out and I dropped the quarter into his palm. I rolled my eyes as he gripped the quarter for dear life. He dug five more out of his pocket as he turned to exit the room the way he came.

"Have fun, or whatever," I said awkwardly. I raised my hand to wave goodbye but realized that it was unnecessary because the begging boy was gone. I turned back to the unattended laundry just as the dryer buzzed, signifying it was done with its cycle. I bent down with the empty basket to dump the warm clothes into it. One sock was left all the way in the back that no matter how hard I tried it was just too far away for my arm to reach, so I got down on my hands and knees and reached forward into the dryer to get it. My hand just barely grazed the sock when a startling voice erupted in the quiet room, causing me to smash my head against the top of the dryer.

"I'm Simon, by the way."

I emerge from the dryer with my hand clasped against the back of my head. The begging boy was back standing in front of me and was breathing heavily like he ran back here to tell me this information.

I nodded, not sure what else to do. "Isabelle."

He held the condom up for me to see. I couldn't help but laugh.

"You're telling me you came all the way back here to show me the condom that I helped you buy?" I bit my lip to keep from laughing again.

"I just wanted you to know that I wasn't lying."

"Simon?" I asked mainly to make sure I caught his name correctly. When he nodded encouragingly I continued. "I didn't think you were lying at all. No one's that desperate for a quarter."

* * *

**Kourtnie Speaks: It's been so long since I've actually written, typed, and edited something; it feels so insanely good to have inspiration. Sorry it's been so long. Working on something that will be up very soon, I promise 100%**


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